


Heavy-Handed

by Thyme_Basalt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Junkertown setting, M/M, Post Top Surgery, Roadhog takes care of a cranky Junkrat, Trans Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 09:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15482583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt
Summary: Junkrat thinks fucking with his bodyguard is the only thing that will make him feel better while recovering from top surgery.





	Heavy-Handed

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt I received on my Tumblr asking for cranky post-top surgery Junkrat! Feel free to send me any prompts: [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)

“Stop picking at the binder,” Hog reminds Rat for the fifth time that day.

“Just makin’ sure it’s stayin’ on. Sheesh, ya big control freak.” Rat tries to say it innocently, but he’s tried taking the thing off so many times now that Hog doesn’t buy the excuse. He leans against Hog's workbench, leaning his slight weight against his side.

“Doc said to keep it on,” Hog says beside him. A few screws from his scrap gun clatter to the floor, slipping from his big fingers. Rat’s on the ground in an instant, scrounging around on his hands and knees.

“Gottem!” Rat sits up, banging his head on a cabinet handle on his way up.

“Fuck, Rat!” Hog growls, exasperated, snatching the screws from Rat’s outstretched hand. “You need to go lay down.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Rat hops up on the counter right in Hog's way. He moves to cross his arms on his chest, but winces at the discomfort and has to look down to remind himself that the landscape of his body has changed. A moment of silence passes between them while Hog fits the screw back in place.

“Oh!” Rat says with a start. He digs around in his back pocket, unsheathing a crumpled sheet of paper. “Here’s my surgery notes from the doctor.”

Hog can already see Junkrat’s familiar scrawl on the page.

“Step 1: Get yer tits cut off.” Junkrat stares pointedly at Hog and make a “check” symbol in the air. “Step 2: Have yer bodyguard drive you home.” Another check. “Step 3: Rest for however long you like, perhaps 4 to 6 hours.” Check. “Step 4: Slowly drive yer bodyguard up the wall with your incessant need for attention and comfort. That one’s in progress.”

Hog takes the piece of paper from him and reads the last point. “Step 5: Profit.”

“That’s right.”

“How are you going to profit from this?”

“I already did!” Rat gives a gentle punch to his bicep. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure you paid for it.”

Roadhog rolls his eyes and slides the piece of paper back into Rat’s pocket.

“No heavy lifting until day 2,” Rat continues recounting his made-up instructions from his doctor. “And I’m pretty sure it’s day three, so I’m gonna go bench press yer scrapgun-”

A massive hand closes around Rat’s head and steers him over to the massive bed tucked in the corner of their barn. He sits Rat down, ignoring his grousing.

“Get some rest,” Hog orders, strapping on his armor. “I’m going into town.”

“Poor cut up Rat’s too whiny for ya? Gonna go get a drink with Bruce so you can bitch about me?”

Hog doesn’t answer as he mounts up the motorbike. It roars to life and he speeds out of the garage.

***

It’s early evening and Rat’s lying on his back (as the real doctor instructed him), with his prosthetics off and his single hand flitting at the bottom of the binder. With Hog gone, it’s not as fun to pretend he’s going to pick up objects two times his own weight. He messes around at his workbench for a couple minutes out of spite before he decides that sleep is probably the best choice, the ever present pain dulling away at his will to be stubborn. He pops a few painkillers and a steady woozy fog clouds him. He’s acutely aware that he’s never been so vulnerable in his life and that fact keeps him from finding sleep. Even his savior the grenade launcher sits on a shelf beyond his reach.

When a familiar rumble reaches his ears, he’s relieved, like a part of him has come back to his body. He closes his eyes as the heavy feet enter the barn, too tired to get into the inevitable argument of whether or not he should be sleeping. Boots are shucked off, armor deposited in a heap. Half of the bed sinks as Hog’s impressive weight is dropped onto it. He can feel Hog’s breath on his neck as he moves in close to him.

“Have something for you,” Hog says as quiet as his deep voice will allow.

“Mmm?”

“It’s gonna be cold.”

“Consider me warned.”

Even as he says that, nothing could have prepared Rat for the icy assault on his chest. He squeals, pushing Hog’s hand back. He’s holding a bag of frozen mix vegetables, a rare delicacy out here in Junkertown.

“Bruce knew a guy,” Hog says, gently returning the frozen bag to Rat’s chest over top of the binder. Rat winces again, twisting in place for a moment but then he calms, willing his racing heart rate to return to normal.

“Ya got these for me?” Rat asks, his flesh hand gripping the back of Hog’s, feeling the heavy, comforting pressure of his palm against his chest. It’s a familiar sensation; Hog would often lay like this with him, heavy handed compression on his chest.

Hog grunts, pressing his snout into Rat’s hair in the semblance of a kiss. His thumb runs up and down Rat’s ribs as he holds the frozen veggies in place.

“Will help with the swelling,” Hog says after a few beats pass. “Maybe your whining too.”

“Doubt it,” Rat sighs, drawing swirl patterns with his finger on the back of Hog’s hand.

But it does help with the whining. Maybe it’s the icy relief, maybe it’s long sought-after rest, or maybe it’s the comforting, ever-present affection of a man who barely speaks a dozen words a day, but Rat soon finds sleep under the biggest hand he’s ever held and a melting bag of mixed veggies.


End file.
